


carved my name into his leather seats

by emmared



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2010 Winter Olympics, Adultery, Angst, Car Accidents, Cheating, Drinking, M/M, Olympics, almost all 1988, but its consenual, its endgame 1988, there's a scene where someone is used for sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 04:51:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11775873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmared/pseuds/emmared
Summary: Jonny looked up at Patrick, sweat rolling down his nose and landing as a splattered mark on the ice before freezing over and becoming one with the surface.“I’m not done,” he shouts, shoving at Patrick. Patrick holds his ground and pushes back, anger bubbling up from inside him like it’d been festering ever since he heard Jonny admit his mistake.“Maybe I am?” He yells back, barely registering most of his teammates filing off the rink. “Maybe I don’t want you, I don’t even know who you are anymore! You’re sure as hell not the man I fell in love with.”





	carved my name into his leather seats

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to all the amazing people who helped me with ideas, wording, tenses (I can't stay in the right tense to save my life). Thanks Misha, Timmy and Ellie.
> 
> Big thanks to Pan who motivated me and beta'd at any time (seriously, she's a godsend), and was the best cheerleader a writer could ask for!
> 
> Thanks to Lor for the Fest, without you I would never have tried my first hand at real angst.
> 
> Title from Carrie Underwood's 'Before He Cheats'.

_Jonny slams back another shot, wincing at the burn as the spirit works its way down his throat.  
The sting of the loss is still worse._

_“We’re heading up to bed,” Seabs states, patting Jonny on the back as he and Duncs make their exit from the Olympic Village bar, saying their goodbyes as they leave. Jonny waves over his head half-heartedly, not really in the mood to be chipper after the loss to the USA team._

_He tries not to think of it as Kaner’s team, tries to put their relationship above this, but considering this is something he’s wanted all his life he can’t help but hold it over them like a cloud._

It’s only a game, _he reminds himself._

-

Patrick knew something was up with Jonny, could see it in the way he went about things, fidgety. Normally he’d write it off as sheer nerves, but something was different. A guarded look in his eyes, the way he’d avoid physical contact and kept conversations short. Hell, he’d even be willing to shrug it off as after effects of losing in the preliminaries to him, but they don’t do that.

They don’t hold shit like this over one-another, Olympics or not. 

“What’s wrong?” Patrick finally mustered up the courage to ask as Jonny purposely avoided eye contact once again. Sweat formed along Jonny’s brow, and he motioned for Patrick to take a seat, tugging at his shirt collar anxiously as he waited for him to settle down on the bed. 

“I have to tell you something,” Jonny spoke, finally looking Patrick in the eyes, but the pain buried there made him wish he hadn’t. 

Patrick instantly reached out to grab his hands, seeing how hard this was for him, but Jonny jerked away, starting to pace instead. “Jon, stop.” Patrick tried, worry turning into something more intense as he continued to watch his boyfriend freak out about something. “Just tell me, it’s okay baby, _talk to me_.”

“I slept with someone else,” he spit out, the words escaping through his lips like vomit. He looked like he was going to be sick, and Patrick stood to embrace him in a reassuring manner before the words really sunk in. 

It was Patrick who became physically sick. 

He sprinted for the bathroom, emptying the contents of his stomach into the porcelain bowl.

“ _I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Pat, I didn’t mean to_ ,” Jonny repeated like a mantra as he combed his fingers through Patrick’s hair while Patrick crouch over the toilet. He weakly tried to shake Jonny off, pathetically hitting his hands away every time they came close.

"Is this some kind of sick joke?" Patrick cried, tears pooling in the corner of his eyes, but one look at Jonny told him everything he needed to know - it was true. Sobs racked his body as he felt something deep inside him break, felt _his trust_ diminish. 

The mantra continued but Patrick tuned it out, instead walking around the room, throwing his belongings haphazardly into his suitcase. He moved into the bathroom, grabbing all his personal belongings and gathering them in his toiletries bag. 

“Who was it?” Patrick whispered as he zipped his case, unable to look at his boyfriend, who remained silent. “Who was it!” Patrick screamed, throwing a water bottle across the room in frustration. 

Jonny mumbled something, but Patrick remained stock-still, waiting for him to repeat the name he’d thought he heard. “Sidney,” Jonny spoke more clearly, taking a step towards Patrick, arm raised to touch him.

Patrick smacked it away instantly, disgust making his stomach turn again. 

“Crosby? Are you fucking kidding me?" He spat, anger rising. "Jonny please tell me you're kidding." 

He searched Jonny's face desperately for a sign - any sign - but all he found was guilt. His anger left him just as swift as it had came, and Patrick was - Patrick was so, so tired. He slipped on his shoes and grabbed his bag, slamming the door behind him without even a backwards glance in Jonny's direction.

Jonny could do nothing but stand there, slack-jawed and helpless in their shared room, as he watched Patrick walk out of his life.

-

_“Are you okay?” Sidney says from beside him, and how did he get so close to whisper into his ear? Everything’s spinning and maybe Jonny’s overdone it but he feels better now._

_“Wanna bed,” Jonny slurs, almost falling out of his chair as he tries to get up. He stumbles his way to the lobby and elevator with Sidney’s hand on his back anchoring him._

_Sidney’s shorter than him, almost the same size as Patrick but different in every way. His dark hair and eyes are like a mockery of his vibrant and light colouring, the brown eyes confusing him every time he looks up expecting to see baby blues._

_Sidney gets him up to his room and opens the door for him, shoving him onto the bed and turning to leave. Something starts within Jonny and he reaches out, grabbing his wrist and tugging him back towards the bed._

_“Stay,” Jonny whispers, pulling him down into a kiss._

_His lips feel different, bigger than Patrick’s._

_Patrick._

_His boyfriend, his better half… Where’s Patrick? Why isn’t he here in Jonny’s room?_

_All these thoughts run through his head as Sidney buries his fingers in what little hair Jonny has, scratching lightly at his scalp._

_“Wait,” Jonny breathes out as Sidney’s hand reaches for his belt._

-

“Are you serious?” Patrick asks incredulously, eyes roaming the guys filling up the bar, taking his seat at the bar. Sharpy rolls the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbow and smiles at him in response, leaning over the counter to order them two light beers. Of course his idea of helping Patrick is taking him to a gay bar.

“Can I get you a drink?” A tall blond asks, coming up to them, but his eyes aren’t on Patrick. Instead, they’re on Sharpy and really, who could blame him? The man is unfairly gorgeous. 

“Sorry man, not my type.” Sharpy brushes him off, but slings his arm around Patrick, pulling the guys attention to him. “My friend though, is looking for someone just like you.” He grabs his beer and leaves the two of them alone, wagging his eyebrows at Patrick as he slips away into the crowd.

“How about I buy you a drink?” Patrick offers, taking a sip of the beer Sharpy ordered for him and offering the now open seat beside him to the blonde. “I’m Patrick.” 

“Brady,” he responds, taking Patrick’s hand in a firm shake, before smiling blindingly at him, the exact opposite of Jonny and yeah, okay, Patrick can do this. 

-

They make it back to Patrick’s place in one sweaty, ball of limbs, connected at the mouth. He wastes no time leading them to the bedroom, pushing Brady onto the mattress and climbing on top of him. Patrick’s hands trail over his body as he tries to familiarize himself with the new surroundings, whereas Brady’s go straight to his belt. 

He’s ghosting his lips over Brady’s neck when he feels something circle his hole, bringing him to an abrupt stop. 

He pulls back in shock, feeling violated, eyes staring a hole into Brady.

“Man, I’m a top. That’s a no-fly zone,” he says, putting a hand behind him as if to protect his dignity. Brady looks at him in confusion, a slight smile tugging at his very-plump, well-kissed, lips.

“So am I,” he states with a laugh, running a hand through his hair and grinning up at Patrick. 

There’s silence between them as Patrick assess this new information, removing himself from his position on Brady’s lap.

“I don’t think this is going to work out,” he finally admits, tugging back up his boxer-briefs and sprawling out on the bed. As he’s staring up at the ceiling, he feels a hand trail its way up his stomach, fingertips applying slight pressure as they crawl towards his neck.

And it suddenly reminds him so much of Jonny, his affinity for touching after sex, just light presses of his fingers on his bicep. Their pillow talk, Jonny whispering sweet nothings in his ear. It’s all too much, feels like it’s pressing down heavily onto his chest. 

“Get out,” Patrick pushes through grit teeth, knows he’s not being fair to this poor guy who just wanted to get laid. 

“What?” Brady asks, his fingers pausing their climb as he tries to process the words.

“I said _get out_ ,” Patrick reiterates, twining his fingers behind his head as he stays on the bed, listening to Brady gather his things and shut the apartment door behind him.

-

Patrick hates Jonny for this.

For ruining the Olympics.

For breaking them up.

_For hurting him._

-

_Sidney pauses, panting as he stares up at Jonny, gaze filled with lust._

_His look makes Jonny forget his reason for pausing, and then Jonny’s pushing them around, so Sidney’s beneath him, and pulls off his clothes._

-

Jonny looked up at Patrick, sweat rolling down his nose and landing as a splattered mark on the ice before freezing over and becoming one with the surface.

“I’m not done,” he shouts, shoving at Patrick. Patrick holds his ground and pushes back, anger bubbling up from inside him like it’d been festering ever since he heard Jonny admit his mistake.

“Maybe I am?” He yells back, barely registering most of his teammates filing off the rink. “Maybe I don’t want you, I don’t even know who you are anymore! You’re sure as hell not the man I fell in love with.”

Jonny stumbles backwards again, as if Patrick physically hit him.

“You don’t want me anymore?”

“I don’t know what I want!” Patrick confesses, words spilling out of him, reminiscent of the vomit he had the last time they talked like this one-on-one. “You fucked me up Jon, I thought I had it all together, I had you and that’s all I needed but then you went and fucked it up. Or should I say got fucked?”

Another flinch.

“Was it good? Was it worth it? Was it worth throwing **us** away?” Hurt washes over Patrick like a cool rain, from his head to his feet. He feels a tiny prickle of guilt for the harsh words he’s throwing at Jonny, but he can’t stop now.

“Do you wanna hear about the guy I fucked the other week? You wanna know how when I came in his ass the only thing I could think, the only thing I could see _was you?_ ” He lies, but in the moment it seems like the right thing to say, the perfect words to dig under Jonny’s skin and burrow there, making him feel like shit. 

“Patri-”

“He felt _so_ good, it was so nice to finally feel like I was getting over you. But I can’t! You’re here, in the dressing room, in my apartment where your shit sits exactly where you left it because I can’t physically bring myself to move it or throw it out. **You’re everywhere!** ”

Silence falls over them like a blanket, no white noise, just the sounds of their heavy breathing. 

The first tear scares Patrick at first, not sure what’s happening until his eyes start stinging. He has to hold his breath to stop a pathetic sob from escaping. 

“ _I’m so sorry_.”

And that’s what pushes him over the edge, the same words he heard months ago, spilling from Jonny’s lips with lack of anything else to say.

The tears fall freely, ugly sobs force their way from deep inside him, and he has to leave.

He needs to get away from Jonny, can’t let him see him like this.

_Vulnerable._

…

So Patrick flees. 

Skates hard over to the tunnel and races into the dressing room, ripping off his equipment and throwing it into his stall. 

He hurries into the showers, trying to ignore the sounds of Jonny entering the room and preparing for his own shower. A piece of him hopes he’ll just leave but the needy side of him, that still yearns for Jonny, crosses its fingers in hopes that he’ll join him in the shower.

The second part cheers silently as the faucet beside him turns on.

They shower in complete silence for a few minutes, Patrick lathering his body slowly, basking in the closeness. They’re only separated by a chest-high wall and it’s the closest they’ve been, aside from on the ice, in months.

“Did you really fuck someone else?” Jonny asks so quietly, Patrick thinks he’s imagining it. Can barely hear him over the sound of pouring water. But the question lingers in the air, tainting it with something that provokes Patrick to respond.

“No,” he admits truthfully, standing under the spray to cleanse the suds from his skin. 

He’s so busy cleaning himself off he doesn’t feel the presence beside him until Jonny is grabbing his bicep and turning him around.

“I’m glad,” Jonny states and _what the fuck_? Patrick pulls away in disgust, at the relief on Jonny’s voice after he did that exact thing to him. It’d serve him right that Patrick slept with someone else. “No, I don’t mean it like that.”

“Oh, so you didn’t mean to sound relieved? Or you didn’t mean to come across as such a fucking asshole?” Patrick questions, not pulling away when Jonny reaches out again, grasping his hand tightly.

“No, I didn’t mean it to come across that way,” Jonny clarifies, pulling Patrick into him by their linked hands so that he’s pressed flush against his chest. “I just meant that it’s a good sign is all, for us.”

“There is no us,” Patrick spits out, but rests his free hand on the sparse hair covering Jonny’s chest. 

“Baby, I miss you.” The admission and petname go straight to Patrick’s soft cock. 

Well _not so_ soft anymore.

Jonny doesn’t miss the change either, if the way his eyes light up is any inclination. He leans forward to kiss Patrick but he immediately pushes Jonny away, going even so far as to turn him around completely. He uses his body to shove Jonny against the divider and spreads his legs apart with his thigh. 

“Fuck you,” Patrick mutters, sticking a finger into him without warning. He opens him up roughly, using the water as lube to help slicken up his fingers as he adds another, scissoring to spread him wide. 

“Fuck Patrick, yes,” Jonny chants, and Patrick can’t take it, the sound of his voice like this, so he reaches up with his free hand and hooks a finger in his mouth, tugging down roughly. Jonny wastes no time in sucking the digit in further, teasing with his tongue and circling his fingertip.

“Shit,” Patrick groans, wasting no time and pushing himself into Jonny with a single, hard thrust. The grunt Jonny lets out is a mix of pain and pleasure and it makes Patrick’s balls tighten. 

There’s something surreal about the moment, fucking into Jonny under the cover of water in their place of work, it’s definitely turning Patrick on. 

He pumps into him without any reservations, losing himself to the tight, soft heat he’d been missing. But it’s different, in the way he’s going about it.

He’s just using Jonny, solely worried about his own orgasm, chasing it like the drink you have after a shot. 

“Fuck, slow it down a bit, baby,” Jonny gets out around the finger in his mouth and Patrick gives his ass a hard slap, shutting him up and fucking him harder. 

His thrusts get sloppy as he gets closer to the edge and then he’s falling over it, filling Jonny up with his seed. Jonny grunts in frustration reaching back to keep Patrick inside him while he jerks off but Patrick shoves him away.

Jonny slips on the tiled floor and lands on his hands and knees, looking back up at Patrick, burned.

Patrick leaves him there, on the ground, used and abused.

-

_Sidney breaches Jonny with a strong push, stretching the muscles around his cock as he bottoms out in the first thrust. Jonny lets out a groan at the feeling; he’s not as big as Patrick but if he closes his eyes all he can see is his boyfriend, hanging over him, dripping sweat onto his chest as he pumps his hips in and out._

_It doesn’t last long, surprising considering the amount of alcohol Jonny’s consumed, and he feels his orgasm hit quick._

_“Patrick,” he moans as he comes, seeing stars as his entire body releases the tension that he’s harboured since before the game. He feels drained after, leaving the mess for the morning and letting himself lull into a restless sleep._

-

Patrick feels sick to his stomach when he remembers that Pittsburgh comes to town today. He can’t handle to fact that Jonny and Crosby are going to be in the same arena as him, and he’s almost ready to call Coach Q and request to be a healthy scratch, but that’s not the type of person he is, the type to back away from a challenge. 

It’s what makes him stay a little longer after practice to work on the special teams unit, inevitably making him one of the last to leave the arena after their ice time.

The Penguins players are just arriving as Patrick is leaving and he does his best to act normal with the guys he’s familiar with, making his way slowly out the door to the parking garage of Johnny’s Ice House. He’s pleading with whatever higher powers there may be that he gets out of the building before he sees the homewrecker. 

He makes it safely to his car, puts it into reverse and slowly eases out of the space. 

As he’s checking his rearview mirror a sight makes him freeze.

Jonnys standing there, fresh from the shower and in a suit, talking to **him**.

Something in Patrick rages at the sight of them, standing three feet apart, in what looks like a uncomfortable conversation, and he snaps. His foot slams down onto the gas pedal instead of the break and his Hummer goes flying back. 

Directly into a support beam. 

His neck flings forward from the whiplash, the pain is instantaneous, throbbing from the base of his skull down to the middle of his spine. There’s noises everywhere, but they all sound foggy. 

Car alarms going off sound like tiny bells, but Patrick soon realizes that it’s because the airbag is in his face. He hears the sound of pounding footsteps racing towards him in the distant, but it’s all catalogued in unimportant at the moment. 

He wastes no time trying to move, even though he probably shouldn’t, flexing his fingers and toes, making sure his circulation isn’t shot. He feels something wet trickle down the side of his head and thinks its tears at first, that is until he sees the ugly red soaking the airbag before him.

It’s the weirdest feeling, almost surreal, as his door is ripped opened from beside him and suddenly hands are on him, trying to grab his attention. The smell of oil and blood are thick in the air, their sheen is similar but the liquids are so different.

“Patrick.” The voice shakes him to his core, the haunting sound of agony and worry all rolled into one solid note of his name. Jonny sounds wrecked, grabbing him by the arm and gingerly trying to pull him from the wreckage. Instantly voices tell him not to, and then Jonny’s crying, face shoved against Patrick’s thigh as the ambulance is called. Patrick moves his hand to Jonny’s head, burying his fingers there in his hair, attempting to soothe him in any possible way. 

-

The car accident, it turns out, isn’t major. 

It’s the whiplash that has the most lasting physical effect on him. Jonny being the most emotional by far. 

It’s so minor that he only ends up missing a few games, spends no time in the hospital and is back home the same night. But he sees pictures, of the wreck, of what he looked like when it happened, and knows that it could have been way worse. 

He spends his days off being babied by Abby and Sharpy, with the girls climbing all over him. He also takes the time to ignore Jonny’s texts, but doesn’t refrain from eating the gift baskets sent to him from all his other teammates. 

Patrick honestly can’t believe he let it get to this point, where he could have seriously injured himself just because he saw Jonny talking to Crosby. 

But the worry he saw from Jonny, the _desperation_ in his voice, it haunts Patrick at night, slowly crawling its way under his skin inch by irritating inch. 

-

Like any normal person, Jonny would stop trying to talk to Patrick. 

Not force himself upon him, stick to his side of the dressing room and not acknowledge him at all.

But Jonny’s not normal.

It starts with flowers, a bouquet shows up at his door first thing the next morning with a card with only two words scrawled across it by Jonny’s own hand.

_I’m sorry._

The flowers go straight into the trash.

As do the next week’s worth.

Patrick has to take down garbage twice as frequently due to the sheer amount of white roses he receives. 

When the flowers garner no response it becomes teddy bears. Small at first, but growing in size as the days go on.

Patrick keeps one, for some insane reason. 

It has a hockey stick in it’s paws and written across it’s chest is _‘Get Well Soon Peeks’_. 

-

It’s late when Patrick’s phone starts ringing, the stupid marimba tones pull him from a light sleep and he’s so lethargic he hits accept without looking at the Caller ID, assuming it’s Sharpy reminding him to take his meds. 

“Fuck off,” He mumbles, flopping around from his stomach to his back and staring up at the darkness of his room. His neck aches and okay, maybe he did forget to take his meds. 

He’s not going to admit it to Sharpy though so he sits up to grab the pill bottle on his bedside table and shakes out a few. 

“Patrick,” Jonny breathes into the line and Patrick drops his pills onto the bed. 

A swell of emotions floods him instantly. 

“Patrick, please don’t hang up,” Jonny begs, and fuck him for knowing Patrick well enough that his thumb is already hovering over the ‘end call’ button. His neck is still throbbing so he rustles around trying to find his pills, taking them with the glass of water he keeps beside his bed. 

“Why shouldn’t I?”

His question hangs in the air for a second too long.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Jonny admits, and Patrick almost hangs up until he hears his voice again. “I was drunk, I wasn’t thinking-”

“Clearly,” Patrick scoffs, cutting in. 

“I-I wouldn’t have done that to you, Patrick. You have to believe me. I know what I did wasn’t fair to you, but I need you to find it in your heart to forgive me. I can’t live without you, I _need_ you.”

Patrick can’t think of a response, his head is throbbing now too and he really wants to sleep but Jonny’s pouring his heart out here and he can’t just shut him down without hearing him out.

“I talked to Sidne-”

“Don’t say his name,” Patrick interjects, his heart clenches slightly at the thought.

“No, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have,” Jonny mumbles, clearly taken aback by Patrick’s harsh tone. “I just,” He takes a deep breath before continuing. “I talked to him and he told me what happened, fuck, I even called him by your name, Pat. I know I was in the wrong, but I wasn’t in the right state of mind. I just need you to tell me it’s alright, that you forgive me for such a terrible thi-”

Patrick hangs up. 

-

_When he wakes up the next morning, his bed is empty, but the evidence is everywhere, mostly in the dried come that’s become one with the hair that dusts the path between his belly button and his pubes._

_It’s not the hangover that has him feeling like shit, it’s the self-loathing that sits itself at the pit of his stomach and shoves its way up his throat._

_He feels dirty, even after his shower. When he thinks back to what he can remember it makes his skin crawl, that he_ let it happen, _let alone instigated it._

 _He has to tell Patrick, he can’t keep this a secret, it’d ruin their relationship. Patrick’s understanding, they’ll be able to work through this._ It’s just a rough patch, _he convinces himself, something they need to overcome and will eventually make them stronger._

-

“Did you get my gifts?” Jonny asks at practice, the determination highlights the colour of his eyes, making the brown appear it’s own unique shade. 

A colour without a name.

“What part of fuck off don’t you understand?” 

“You never told me to fuck off.”

“Well consider this your official invitation,” Patrick responds, tossing a pass to Sharpy and missing his tape by an inch that he usually never would. The fact that this is affecting his game is irritating at the least.

“I’m not going to stop until you tell me to.”

And the weird thing is, Patrick doesn’t tell him to. 

-

_It was Sharpy’s idea to get drunk._

_“Another one?” Patrick slurs, waving the waitress over and motioning with his almost empty pint. Sharpy nods in agreement, slamming back the rest of his beer. The waitress soon brings over two new brews, condensation rolling off the glass and being absorbed by the wood of the table._

_“So Peeks, how’ve you been?” Sharpy asks, his own words blurring together with the amount of beer they’ve consumed while watching the Stars game. Sharpy’s old team got the win so they used celebration as an excuse to keep drinking, thankfully having nothing scheduled the next day except for an optional skate.  
Coach Q would not approve of how much they’ve had to drink, neither would Jonny, yammering on and on about empty calories and is the buzz worth the work needed to shake it off. _

_Patrick winces as his thoughts drift to Jonny, it’s just automatic at this point, but it still hurts that he can’t go out and have a good time with his best friend without being reminded of his ex boyfriend._

_“Fucking shit,” he answers honestly, tearing at his napkin in an attempt at distraction. He’s too drunk for this, doesn’t want to think about it. “I miss him. Sharpy.” He admits it, feeling small and pathetic._

_“You don’t need him Pat,” Sharpy insists, having heard the whole story once it happened. He’s Patrick’s best friend and totally supported his decision to leave Jonny, but it’s so much harder actually executing it._

_“I know I don’t need him,” he agrees, taking another sip of his beer to let his thoughts marinate for a second before bringing them to fruition. “I want him though, I still love him. This isn’t fair to either of us at this point.”_

_“So you’re just going to forgive him?” Sharpy sounds disappointed, but there’s a little smirk on his lips, like this was his intention all along. Like he purposely pushed Patrick away from Jonny so that he’d realize on his own that he likes life better with him in it._

_The dick._

_“No, I’m not just going to forgive him,” Patrick slurs, gulping down the rest of his beer and standing up so that he can put his coat on. “I’m going to make him work for it.”_

-

Jonny doesn’t fuck off. On the contrary, he continues doing sweet little nothings, like ordering Patrick’s favourite meals to be delivered to his apartment or sending him cute texts without a response. 

And honestly, it’s wearing down Patrick’s walls.

He invites Jonny over to his flat, and greets him with a beer and a smile.

“Thanks for coming over,” Patrick starts, toying with the label on his bottle instead of biting his lip like he wants to. The glass feels cool against his palm, reminding him that he did this with a purpose.

“I’m surprised you messaged me,” Jonny admits, sipping his beer and Patrick watches as he swallows. He must be purposely trying to look good because he hasn’t seen such a simple task turn him on this much. “I checked it three times before I headed over just to make sure.”

Patrick nods, letting out a nervous laugh. It feels weird, sitting here with him as if everything hadn’t happened.

But it did, obvious in the tense shoulders worn by both of them, and how there’s an air of something that’s never been there before circulating around them like a fan.  
Everything’s different. They aren’t the same people they used to be, they’ve both grown and found a way to survive without being co-dependent. Patrick’s found a way to survive without leaning on Jonny as a crutch. 

“I don’t need you,” Patrick starts, and watches the way Jonny flinches at his harsh words, putting his bottle on the tabletop and standing up from the couch.

“I didn’t come here to be berated again Patrick,” Jonny states, reaching for his coat with slumped shoulders and making his way to the door.

“Sit down Jonny,” Patrick says, and Jonny freezes at the use of the nickname. Patrick’s taken to calling him Jonathan ever since they’d broken up, maybe Jon but never Jonny.

“I don’t need you,” He starts again, emphasizing the word. “It’s something I’ve figured out since we’ve been broken up, I can live without you. I used to think you made the world turn, hell that the sun shone out of your ass, but I realize now that it wasn’t healthy to think that way. I can’t put you on a pedestal.”

“I wanted to be that for you,” Jonny adds, his usual stoic face morphed into a frown.

“I know, and I used to want that too.” Patrick replies. “But I don’t anymore.”

Silence stretches between them after that sentence, Jonny absorbing the words with the same seriousness he uses when playing hockey.

“So that’s it, we’re done?” He asks, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Patrick lets it sit for a moment, weighing the options in his head, but he’s already made up his mind.

“No,” he answers, as the first tear makes its way down Jonny’s face. He reaches across the space between them and uses his thumb to brush it away. “I don’t need you, but I want you in my life. I know I’d be fine without you, but I wouldn’t be happy. You may not be my center of gravity anymore, but you’re still my sunshine. I don’t want to hibernate anymore, I want to bask in you. I want you around, cracking stupid puns and kissing me goodnight.”

The relief that washes over Jonny’s face is instantaneous.

“You’ve got a lot to make up for though, I may be forgiving you but I won’t forget. It’ll take me a while to trust you again, you really fucked that up.” Jonny nods solemnly at his words, acknowledging his mistake. “But I want to try again. New, _better._ I want us to be better than we were before this shit.”

“I want to be better too,” Jonny adds, reaching across to grab Patrick’s hands. Patrick wants to flinch away slightly, but ignores the urge and grasps Jonny’s hands tightly between his own.

“You better not even look at Crosby again though, seriously,” he demands and Jonny nods in agreement. 

“I’m so-” 

“Don’t say it,” Patrick stops him. “I don’t want you to apologize anymore, you’ve done enough of that for a lifetime. If I ever hear you say the words ‘I’m so sorry’ again you better have hit me with your car or something.”

“I don’t plan on hitting you with my car anytime soon, I promise,” Jonny responds, cracking his first smile of the evening. “And no joking about car accidents.”

“C’mere,” Patrick says, reaching around his neck to pull him close and presses their lips together into a sweet kiss. 

There’s no rush, no edge, it feels like home.

-

_Patrick feels anger swirling in the pit of his stomach as soon as his eyes land on the guy approaching him in the hallway, the only other man who’s ever been inside Jonny. It’s been years since it happened, Jonny and Patrick worked through it all a long time ago and have been able to move on, but seeing him like this, instead of on the ice during a game, makes all those memories of the worst time in his life resurface from the great depths of his subconscious._

_Remembers how broken he felt, unwanted, getting drunk and crying to Sharpy._

_Even though they aren’t on the rink, he still needs to act professional, there’s a camera on him and a woman guiding the homewrecker._

_So he buries the feelings, physically swallows to help push them down to someplace where they won’t hurt as much, and plasters on a smile._

_They shake hands and wish each other luck, but Crosby looks hesitant and Patrick takes that as a sign of victory, his smile widening a bit more._

_The insecurity that wrapped around him like a blanket earlier is gone. When he checks 87 a little harder than necessary tonight it’ll drench said blanket with gasoline. And when he’s fucking Jonny senseless in their bed tonight, making him chant his name, it’ll ignite the flame that’ll burn it to the ground, leaving nothing but ash._


End file.
